


Kid, have you rehabilitated yourself?

by shakiraslyingthighs



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Princess Mechanic, Prison AU, Slow Burn, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-10 07:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10432167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakiraslyingthighs/pseuds/shakiraslyingthighs
Summary: “So what do you do?” She asks.“I'm a mechanic. I fix things.”“Yet you're here?”“I fix machines, not people.”





	1. My thoughts turn fugitive

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fan-fiction so let me know what you think.  
> Title is from Alice's Restaurant Massacre by Arlo Guthrie  
> Chapter title is from Reasons to Run by Miller & Tysen  
> I don't own any of the 100 characters

Last Name – GRIFFIN  
First Name – CLARKE  
Race – WHITE  
Sex – FEMALE  
Age – 16  
Height – 5'5  
Build – SLIM  
Complexion – WHI  
Eyes – BLU  
Hair – BLO  
Occupation – NONE  
Employer – NONE  
Scar, Marks, & Tattoos – SMALL MOLE ON UPPER LIP  
Special Requirements – NONE  
Booking Charge – RESISTING ARREST – CLASSIFIED  
Case Report: 

ON THE MORNING OF APRIL 04, APPROXIMATELY 09:00 MY PARTINER PT. OFF. BAYLOR AND I ASSISTED THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION IN A RAID OF A SMALL SUBURBAN HOME. WE WERE NOT ALLOWED TO KNOW THE CHARGES AGAINST THE SUSPECT OR HER FATHER – AGENT JONES INFORMED US THAT IT WAS A CLASSIFIED SUBJECT.  
WHEN WE GOT TO THE HOUSE WE SEARCHED THE PARIMITER FOR THE SUBJECTS JUST IN CASE THEY GOT TIPPED OFF. THE WITNESS, ABBY GRIFFIN, SAT IN THE SQUAD CAR TO IDENTIFY THE SUSPECTS ONCE WE CAUGHT THEM.  
WE ENTERED WITH VESTS AND FIREARMS OUT. UPON ENTERING THE HOME WE FOUND THE SUSPECT, CLARKE GRIFFIN, WITH HER FATHER AT THE KITCHEN TABLE. WE SUBDUED HER FATHER WITHOUT MUCH RESISTANCE BUT THE SUSPECT BEGAN TO SCREAM AND KICK AT THE OFFICERS. SHE MANAGED TO BITE SEVERAL OF THE OFFICERS AND KICK ME IN THE FACE.  
WE MANAGED TO SEPARATE HER FROM HER FATHER WHO WAS ARRESTED BY THE FBI AGENTS. AT THIS POINT WE ATTEMPTED TO HANDCUFF THE SUSPECT. IT TOOK PT. OFF. MARLO TAZERING THE SUSPECT TWICE FOR HER TO COOPERATE ENOUGH THAT WE COULD GET THE CUFFS ON HER WRISTS.  
BY THE TIME WE GOT HER TO THE SQUAD CAR SHE HAD TO BE RESTRAINED AROUND HER LEGS AND WAIST. WE HAD TO CARRY HER TO THE WITNESS FOR IDENTIFICATION.  
SHE IMMEDIATELY SPIT AT THE WITNESS. WE HAD TO PUT THE SPIT MASK ON HER AND SECURE HER IN THE SQUAD CAR BEFORE WE COULD TRANSFER HER TO THE PRESINCT.

When Clarke is arrested, she's sixteen and is just starting to develop a crush on her best friend. She's sixteen and scared about passing algebra. She's sixteen and sitting at her kitchen table when she's thrown to the ground by a swarm of police.

Her first year in Skyblock Prison is spent in solitary. She's sixteen, and her father is facing the death penalty. She's sixteen, and trying to handle her mother's betrayal while stuck alone in a scary place. She's sixteen and aging faster than she thought she could.

The first month of solitary involves listening to the constant screaming from the cells around her, hallway lights burning into her eyes 24 hrs a day, sleeplessness eating at her brain and soul, and the constant fear closing in around her chest and crawling up her throat.

Her first month in solitary is overwhelming.

The second month of solitary involves blood on her hands from banging on the walls, screaming into the three inch window until she cant scream any longer, spitting at the hands pushing the food trays through, and an all consuming anger eating her from the inside out.

Her second month in solitary is all-consuming.

The sixth month of solitary involves knowing how to fall asleep the second the noise lulls, drawing on every surface to try and stay sane, trading kites around the hall with the other prisoners, and a fake calm hiding the animalistic panic twisting in her stomach.

Her sixth month in solitary is horribly static.

The last month of solitary involves constant exercising, forcing herself to start caring about her appearance and hygiene again, drawing a birthday cake for herself on the wall, and a bone deep loneliness she was almost afraid to lose.

Her last month in solitary is the worst of them all.

When the guards open her cell door, Clarke's feet hesitate at the threshold.

“Come on Griffin, I don't have all day,” The smaller guard drawls. His name is Richards and he clearly hates his job. He tugs slightly on her arm, breaking her out of her head. She stumbles across and looks around. The inmates in the cells around her begin to cheer as she's led down the hall. She smiles back, looking through their tiny windows to get a flash of a face from the people she's been talking to via small paper kites slid around on the floor. They look small behind the windows.

The guards lead her out of the hall and for the first time in a year she sees the rest of the prison. It's clean and open, big enough for her to feel a little dizzy. She just spend 365 days in a room the size of rich people's beds. Now she stands in a cafeteria type area the size of a high school football field.

“Where am I going?”

“You've been transferred to block D. It's medium security, so you get yard time and a roommate now.” The tall guard – Jackson? – begins to point out important places. Each area is color coded, and the jumpsuits match the block prisoners are assigned to. Clarke trades in grey for olive green, and is led to a cell with a larger window and two beds. There is no food slot – she will eat in the cafeteria like a person. She vaguely wonders how that will feel.

Being transferred among other prisoners brings back some of the fear she had swallowed so long ago. This time though, she knows how to bury it deep within herself and present the world a completely blank face.

“Alright, in you go. Your roommate is an oldie so you're lucky. Just stay out of her way and keep your head down and you'll be fine.”

Jackson waits for the door to be unlocked before uncuffing her and handing her a pillow and extra jump suit.

“If you need anything, the commissary is open from eight to six every day. Just give them your inmate number and they'll tell you if your family put any money in your account. Good luck Griffin.”

Clarke nods and steps into her new home.

Her second year in Skyblock Prison, she's seventeen and worried about who to sit with at lunch. She's seventeen and learning to trade cigarettes for art supplies. She's seventeen and in a two man cell with an old woman named Ruth who mutilated and killed her own son.

She receives letters from her mother once a month. She tells herself she wont read them. But when the lights are about to go out and her roommate glares at her for breathing, she pulls the letters out of the envelope and reads her mother's handwriting like her life depends on it.

Clarke I'm so sorry. Clarke I'm putting money in your account. Clarke you'll be taken care of. Clarke please write back.

Clarke I love you.

She never replies, just shoves the letter under her mattress with the rest. Her mother never mentions her father. Clarke doesn't know if she's relieved or not.

Time slows in prison.

She has no visitors and doesn't send any mail. Her father is executed five days after her school would have started summer break. She is transported in a bus for forty five minutes to say goodbye. Clarke hugs him for the entire fifteen minutes they're allowed. He makes her swear to never tell the secret they were arrested for. She tells him she doesn't have anyone to tell.

Jake gives his daughter the old Wall-mart watch on his wrist and tells her to be brave. Abby hugs her daughter as the needle enters Jake's arm. To everyone's surprise, Clarke allows it. She needs someone to hold her up, even if it's the woman who sent her to jail and killed her father.

During the drive home, Jackson pretends he doesn't see her cry.

Clarke spends three years in olive green jumpsuits. She learns fair trades for commissary items, to work out in her cell so that nobody can judge her strength in the yard, and which people are safe to make friends with. She begins to branch out, unconsciously gathering connections within her block.

A few weeks after turning eighteen, Clarke's cellmate Ruth is outed as a former child molester. Within a day the old woman is attacked in the showers and Clarke never has to see her again. The rumor spread that the old woman was sent to the protective block on the other side of the prison.

Clarke cant bring herself to care.

Her new cellmate is a thirty year old hispanic tattoo artist who got arrested for jumping the man who cheated on her sister. She introduces herself as Vanessa and tells Clarke she looks more like an Eliza. Within the first week they are trading drawing tips back and forth. She teaches Clarke Spanish, how to braid her own hair, and how to hand make a tattoo gun. Clarke in turn teaches her how to fly prison kites, how to stop a head cold before it starts, and ways to cook commissary food to make an edible meal.

The women become friends fast. Clarke tells her about life back home with her best friend Wells. Vanessa convinces Clarke to join the prison classes in order to get her G.E.D. They spend weeks studying together, and when Clarke graduates, Vanessa is in the small audience to cheer her on. Clarke doesn't tell her mother.

They celebrate her nineteenth birthday with snickers bars and prison booze.

Of course, it is still prison and Clarke cannot be allowed to be comfortable for long.

Three days before her twentieth birthday Clarke is transferred to block B – low security. She is shocked when Jackson arrives to lead her away, and begins to follow him in a daze when Vanessa returns from the showers.

“Hold on!” She calls out, rushing over. Jackson waits, allowing them to say goodbye.

“I got you a present hermanita.” She ducks into their room and comes out with a small bundle wrapped in scrap paper.

“Open it when you get over there.” 

Clarke feels her cheeks heat up, pulling her friend into a hug.

“I'll miss you.” She whispers.

“Don't stop your studying. I want to see you become House.”

Clarke huffs a laugh at their shared joke.

Jackson waits patiently while Clarke gathers her letters and the present. Everything else she leaves for Vanessa.

Block B turns out to be brighter. Jackson gives her a pastel yellow jumpsuit and leads her down the hall. The cells have four prisoners in each, and just have bars for doors. Everything is open and everyone can mingle.

It's scary.

It's nice.

Jackson leads her to a cell towards the end of the hall. In it she finds an old woman who waves at her as she steps into the cell.

“You must be our new cell mate. I'm Ida,” She says, missing teeth giving her a lisp. “You can take the bottom bunk across from me.”

Clarke nods silently and places her things on the bunk. She immediately stuffs the letters under her mattress. The small package from Vanessa goes under her pillow to be opened later.

Ida tells Clarke about the freedoms low security offer. They are allowed to visit the library and common area at any time of the day as long as they sign in and out. They are allowed to have a television in their cell. Most importantly to Clarke, they are allowed to bring in chess boards and pieces. Ida laughs at Clarke's excitement and promises to show her tomorrow.

“What are you in here for, little girl? You're too young for a place like this,” the old woman says, sitting on the edge of her bunk. Clarke shrugs from her own bunk.

“Assaulting a police officer. I think I broke his nose. They arrested me when I was 16. I've got twelve years left.”

Ida shakes her head.

“Must have been some punch to earn 15 years. They putting babies in jail now? Makes me sick.”

“What about you?”

“Selling crack. I'm trying to get my grand-babies through school, but I'm old. There aren't too many jobs for an old woman like me.” Ida shrugs and holds out her hands. “At least I have a roof over my head and three meals a day. That's more than some folks have.”

By lights out Clarke meets her other two roommates. The first is a twenty five year old prostitute named Lana. She tells Clarke to never trust men, then asks if she has a cigarette she can borrow. Clarke trades three for a blue ballpoint pen. Lana announces she likes Clarke's style and clambers up to the bunk above her. Clarke is relieved at how well she gets along with her cell mates.

The spell is broken by her last cell mate, who saunters in three minutes before lights out.

She is an eighteen year old white girl who practically screams privileged and undisciplined.

“I'm Alyssa. What are you in for?”

“Assaulting a cop. You?”

“Some bullshit about stealing my neighbor's car. It's ridiculous.” Alyssa studies Clarke for a second before asking “Where are you from?”

“Um. Camp Jaha. It's a small town right outside of Arkadia,” Clarke responds.

“Never heard of it,” The girl replies, turning her back on Clarke.

Alyssa saunters over to the middle of the cell and begins to study herself in the tiny mirror above their sink. Around her, Clarke can see Ida roll her eyes at the girl's behavior. Clarke smiles in response. The warning buzz sounds, forcing Alyssa to climb into the bunk above Ida.

When the cell lights go out, Clarke reaches under her pillow and pulls out Vanessa's gift. Using the dim lights from the hallway that filters through their door, she quietly unwraps the bundle to reveal a beat up old Walkman and four cassettes. It must have taken several trades and deals for Vanessa to get her hands on this. Clarke immediately slips the headphones on and pops in the first tape. The first song from American Gangster plays softly in her ears as she stashes the other three tapes under her mattress. She falls asleep by the second chorus.

From that night on, the headphones never leave from around her neck. When she has to shower, she gives them to Ida to listen to for a while. She is the only one Clarke trusts completely. Vanessa had managed to give her the American Gangster soundtrack, the best of Tracy Chapman, a mix of various Chicano rappers, and for some reason a collection of live recordings from someone named Barrett Weed. The tapes stay in her jumpsuit by day, stashed under her mattress at night.

Clarke listens to the tapes out in the yard, sitting on the picnic tables and watching the basketball games. She listens to the tapes in line during meal times. She listens to the tapes while she teaches Lana how to play chess. She listens to the tapes when she gives a rare tattoo to a friend. Most of all, she listens to the tapes at night, when the murmur of voices and distant arguments won't let her forget where she is.

Within a month Alyssa's parents threw enough money at the system to get their daughter released on parole. Her leaving was like a sigh of relief swept through Clarke's cell. Lana and Ida didn't even bother to say goodbye. Clarke just told her that she'd regret it if she wasted her life. Alyssa laughed and told Clarke to back off.

Fine.

That night, Ida watches as Lana and Clarke toss a paper ball back and forth from the top bunks as they speculate what their new roommate will be like.

“I just hope it's not another rich kid. I cant stand young girls with money. They are the worst to deal with in here.”

Clarke nods and tosses the paper ball back.

“I hope she knows chess. No offense, Lana, but you're the worst player I've ever had to play.” 

Lana catches the ball with a laugh.

“Hey! I learned literally three weeks ago! Give me a break! We cant all grow up in the nerd club in some small town.”

Clarke laughs and turns her head to Ida.

“What do you think our new roommate will be like?”

Ida waves her gnarled hands dismissively.

“I'm too old to worry about this sort of thing.”

“Aw, come on abuela! You've got to have some opinion on it,” Lana prompts, hanging her head down to look at Ida.

“Well... It would be nice to have someone my age. You two are so full of energy it's hard for an old woman like me to keep up.”

All three laugh at that.

The next morning Jackson leads a young girl with long brown hair and dark shadows under her eyes into their cell. Unlike their previous cellmate, this one doesn't look privileged. Her eyes are flighty and she holds herself as if ready to fight at a moment's notice. Lana and Clarke greet her while Ida is in the shower.

“Hey, I'm Clarke and this is Lana. What's your name?”

“I'm Octavia. Where am I supposed to sleep?” She isn't harsh, just projecting a confidence that comes with lots of practice. Clarke can tell Lana already likes her. They help her get adjusted to prison – it's her first time in prison, even though she clearly comes from a tumultuous family. She says she's in for assaulting a police officer as well, and that they gave her five years. She nearly faints when she hears how long Clarke got for the same crime.

“Fifteen years! What'd you do, cut his dick off?”

This makes Lana nearly cry laughing. Clarke just shakes her head wryly and refuses to elaborate.

Clarke watches Octavia closely that night. She falls asleep as soon as lights out is called, telling Clarke more about her background than Octavia would ever admit out loud. In her, Clarke sees an angry girl who's desperate for someone to believe in her.

The next day Clarke teaches her the routines of the block.

“If you ever need anything from the guards, ask for Jackson. He's been here as long as I have, and always took care of me. Never deal with Shumway. He heads the guard here and believe me you don't want to mess with him. He's a nightmare – loves to see us suffer. A real masochist. Byrne is another nightmare as well. She definitely feels the need to prove herself to Shumway because she's a woman. Understandable but it makes our lives harder. If you have to deal with someone besides Jackson, ask for Miller. He's tough, but he understands. His son is here, serving eight years in the men's half for robbery.”

Octavia nods, absorbing the information silently. Clarke walks her into the common area, taking a seat in the corner. She leans on her elbows and looks Octavia right in the eyes.

“Hey. I know this place is a lot to take.”

Octavia starts to scoff and turn away. Clarke takes a chance and puts her hand on Octavia's shoulder.

“Octavia, I understand. I came here when I was sixteen, okay? It sucks and it's scary. But stick with Lana, Ida and I and you're safe. You have friends with us as long as you don't screw us over.” Clarke keeps her eyes locked with Octavia's.

“Now, come with me and I'll show you how to trade around here.”

Octavia fits right in with them. She teaches them how to take and throw a punch, when to aim for the eyes, and the power of a well executed hair flip. For three months they become a sort of family: Octavia plays chess with Clarke. Lana trades Clarke pens and markers for cigarettes. Octavia helps Ida with stretches for her arthritis. Clarke gives Ida her jello every day, even though that's the only edible part of dinner most days. Clarke saves Octavia from getting her ass handed to her multiple times. Ida somehow manages to get her hands on a couple more tapes for Clarke.

They coexist beautifully.

Then Lana is up for parole.

She leaves in the middle of the day without telling any of them. They find out when they come back to the cell to find a snicker on each bed and a note that simply says “I love y'all. Good luck.”

None of them are surprised at her sudden departure. It's how Lana operates. Clarke has learned by now to accept that people enter and leave her life. She spends the night listening to Lana's favorite cassette and by the next morning she has let go.

Jackson brings them a new roommate two days later. She's quiet and keeps her head down. She's a transfer from block E.

The first thing about her Octavia notices is the stack of comic books in her hands.

“I'll give you my jello tonight if you let me read one of those. It's been months since I've seen a decent comic book,” She says, eyes locked on the covers. The books the new girl is holding are the thick kind, not the bullshit three page comics the library has.

“Deal! For future reference though, I'll let you read them for free. My friend works in a comic book store, so he sends me a new pack every month.”

Octavia high fives her.

“Awesome! I'm Octavia by the way. The blonde nerd here is Clarke, and the walking dead over there is Ida.”

“Hey, show some respect!”

Octavia laughs.

“Sorry abuela.”

“Nice to meet you. I'm Harper.”

Harper filled the hole Lana had left perfectly. She doesn't say much, but laughs at every joke Octavia tells. She shows Clarke how to fold paper cranes and watches with interest while Clarke makes trades and deals with almost everyone at meals. After a few weeks of watching her interact with so many people, one morning Harper's curiosity gets to her.

“How do you know them all?”

Clarke just smiles knowingly and dodges the question. She has too many secrets and favors and connections to attempt to explain over breakfast.

Ida is the happiest that Harper joined them. She sits for hours listening to Ida tell stories from her childhood and show off the most recent pictures of her grandchildren. Not only does she listen, but she regularly asks after them as if they are Harper's cousins or friends. Clarke lets Harper listen to her tapes every Wednesday as a way to thank her.

Then Ida gets sick, and their little family changes again.

Jackson tells them in the morning. He'll be taking Ida home because they found cancer in her liver. The court decided to release her out of mercy because she's a first time offender with a non-violent crime. It's a rare show of humanity from the powers that be. When he comes for her, it feels much too soon.

“I'm gonna miss you girls. You made an old woman very happy.” Ida starts to tear up, hugging them each individually.

“Now Harper, don't let yourself get pushed around.” Ida pats Harper's cheeks before moving on to Octavia.

“Keep out of trouble little girl. I don't want you to get yourself killed in here. You hear me, girlie? You're too pretty for that.” 

Octavia laughs and squeezes Ida right back. Ida hugs Clarke last.

“Keep them from doing anything stupid. You protect them.”

Clarke nods, unable to say anything else. She can feel the responsibility on her shoulders, but she knows it's been there since she met the other girls.

“We have to go now Miss Reid.” Jackson gently reminds her. She nods and gives one last look to each girl before she steps out of her cell for the last time.

As they watch her walk away Clarke wonders if she'll look as lost when she finally leaves.

Raven Reyes is brought to their cell a week later, ten minutes before lights out.

Octavia is reading one of Harper's comics. Clarke is sitting on her bunk listening to Ne-Yo and drawing a tattoo design for a woman three cells down. Harper is barely awake on her bunk, waiting for Octavia to be done so she can get her opinion.

Suddenly, Byrne's voice calls out to them.

“Alright ladies, up and at'm. You have a new cellmate tonight! Don't be too hard on her tonight.”

They all look over, sliding off of their bunks. Byrne stands in the doorway of their cell, body blocking whoever their new roommate is. 

“You're early!”

The outburst earns Octavia a glare.

“Needed to get her here before the ice storm tomorrow. That okay with you, Blake?”

Octavia nods.

“Good. Can I be in charge now?”

“Yeah.”

Byrne glares for a moment more before she waves for the door to be unlocked. A buzz sounds and the door slides open. Byrne steps aside, revealing the girl behind her.

She's stunning.

That's the first thing that registers in Clarke's mind. Her hair is brown and cascades down her shoulder beautifully, one side braided tight to her head. She's dark – hispanic probably – and has big brown eyes that glance around the cell once.

“Go on, get in there,” Byrne grumbles. The girl nods, stoic mask slipping into place as she steps forward. That's when Clarke's eyes are drawn to the crutch on her left side. It's prison issue – cheap white plastic with an elastic cuff for her bicep. Under her other arm she carries her pillow and extra jumpsuit. She carries nothing else.

She moves in a shuffle-step that tells Clarke her leg is probably paralyzed somewhere below her knee. She takes another step and Byrne is able to slide the door shut.

“Have a good night ladies. Don't be too hard on her.”

Clarke, Harper, and Octavia watch her. She stares back.

“First time?” Harper asks. The girl just nods, trying to project confidence.

“Cool. What'd you do?” Octavia asks, head cocked and tone flat.

“I worked on stolen cars.”

Octavia's eyebrows go up at that. She stares at the new girl for a moment before breaking into a grin.

“Awesome! I'm so glad you're not a murderer. That'd suck.” Octavia points to the bottom bunk across from Clarke.

“You can have that one. I'm Octavia and this is Harper. Short blonde and silent over here is Clarke. She's like that with everyone.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and smiles at the new girl.

“I'm Raven. How does this work exactly?”

“Well lights out will be called any moment now, so you have to be in bed when Byrne comes around to inspect. She's a real hard-ass. You came at a shit time. Most people get here in the morning and get an orientation and all. Oh well. Clarke can show you around tomorrow – she knows pretty much everyone here.”

Raven nods, shuffle-stepping over to her bunk. She sits gingerly, stowing her crutch beneath the bunk. She must know Clarke is staring, because she sends her a defiant look. Head raised, eyes glaring, she stares at Clarke until Harper starts to clamber up to the bunk above her.

Lights out is called while Clarke and Raven sit on their opposite bunks.

Clarke slides her headphones on, softly calling out to Raven.

“Welcome to block B.”


	2. We've both seen our darker days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Fool's Gold by The Damn Quails

Last Name – REYES  
First Name – RAVEN  
Race – HISPANIC  
Sex – FEMALE  
Age – 21  
Height – 5'5  
Build – SLIM  
Complexion – BRO  
Eyes – BRO  
Hair – BRO  
Occupation – MECHANIC  
Employer – SELF  
Scar, Marks, & Tattoos – SMALL JAGGED SCAR ALONG SPINE.  
Special Requirements – REQUIRES MOBILITY AID (CRUTCH)  
Booking Charge – TRADING IN STOLEN CARS/PARTS  
Case Report: 

ON THE MORNING OF DEC 12 AT APPROXIMATELY 10:55 A.M. MY PARTNER PT. OFF. NICHOLSON AND I APPROACHED THE GARAGE WHERE NEIGHBORS HAVE REPORTED MULTIPLE SUSPICIOUS PERSONS BRINGING AUTOMOBILES AFTER DARK. OUR SGT. HAD ORDERED A RAID ON THE GARAGE DUE TO CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE OF THE GARAGE RE-PURPOSING STOLEN VEHICLES. WE ENTERED THE GARAGE ON FOOT WITH OUR FIREARMS OUT TO FIND THE SUSPECT, WHO WAS LATER IDENTIFIED AS RAVEN REYES, UNDERNEATH A GREY TOYOTA LICENSE # TSN-513.  
THERE WERE APPROXIMATELY THREE OR FOUR SUSPECTS IN THE GARAGE, ALL OF WHOM RAN ONCE WE ENTERED. MY PARTNER AND I WERE UNABLE TO CHASE AND CAPTURE THEM ALL, AND WE WERE UNDER SPECIFIC ORDERS TO BRING IN THE WOMAN WHO RAN THE GARAGE.  
I WALKED OVER TO THE SUSPECT AND ASKED FOR IDENTIFICATION. SHE TOLD US TO “BEAT IT” AND TURNED UP HER IPOD. WE ORDERED HER TO GET OUT FROM UNDER THE CAR WITH HER HANDS UP. SHE THEN CAME FROM UNDERNEATH THE CAR, REVEALING A BRACE ON HER LEG AND A CANE NEXT TO THE CAR. PT. OFF. NICHOLSON ORDERED THE SUSPECT TO REMAIN WHERE SHE WAS SO THAT WE COULD CUFF HER. THE SUSPECT THEN BEGAN TO GET AGITATED AND REACHED FOR HER CRUTCH. MY PARTNER USED FORCE TO DETAIN HER WHILE I PULLED OUT MY TASER AND AIMED IT AT HER. I ADVISED HER I WOULD USE IT IF SHE DID NOT CALM DOWN. SHE SHOUTED PROFANITIES BUT DID NOT RESIST PHYSICALLY.  
AT THIS POINT I PLACED THE SUSPECT UNDER ARREST AND CUFFED HER. ONCE THE SUSPECT CALMED DOWN WE PATTED HER DOWN AND HELPED HER INTO THE SQUAD CAR.

Raven spends her first morning in prison learning how to keep up with the other women. The woman who sleeps above her – Harper? Heather? – insists on carrying her towel to the showers no matter how many times Raven says she can do it. She doesn't risk starting an argument before she knows this woman. Octavia – the woman on the top bunk across from her – is the exact opposite. Raven sits on her bunk braiding her wet hair when Octavia announces they're about to be late to breakfast. She assumes Raven can keep up, charging off to breakfast without looking back.

“Don't mind her, she's just too full of energy for this cage.” Her final cellmate tells her. Clarke? Yeah, probably. Raven just shrugs. She doesn't need sympathy.

“I'll show you around if you like. It's not as big as it feels.” Clarke stands from her bunk, having just finished putting her shoes on.

“Thanks.” Raven grips the handle of her shitty crutch and begins her shuffle-step towards the door. She is painfully aware of how slow she walks, dragging her leg along with her. Clarke never says anything though, just walks along side her pointing out various people and hallways.

They arrive in the cafeteria just in time to grab a tray. Raven is relieved when Clarke hands her a tray, eyes watching her to make sure she can get it on her own. This way no attention is drawn to Raven. They move down the line, getting served three different colors of sludge. Clarke laughs at Raven's face as she watches it being spooned onto her tray.

Raven's hand wobbles, and her tray is about to take a dive when Clarke grabs it.

“Híjole,” Raven mutters to herself as they approach a table in the back where Octavia is sitting with several other women.

Raven takes the end seat, stretching out her bad leg. Clarke sits across from her and slides her tray in front of her. Clarke then cocks her head, watching Raven as if studying her.

“¿Prefiere inglés o castellano?”

That's the last thing Raven could have expected from this blonde white girl.

“Um, ya sea. ¿Hablas a castellano?” Raven cannot keep the surprise out of her voice.

Clarke nods.

“I learned from my cellmate a few years back. It's come in handy a few times. I don't know everything, but I can hold up my end of a conversation.”

Raven nods, smile creeping up her mouth. She never fits in with the other Chicanos, so it's nice to meet someone who knows her language without judging the rest of her.

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Clarke smiles back, still studying Raven. 

“So what do you do?” She asks.

“I'm a mechanic. I fix things.”

“Yet you're here?”

“I fix machines, not people.” Raven's voice turns cold.

Clarke lets it drop, swirling her spork in the mush on her tray.

“What is this supposed to be?” Raven asks, bringing some of it up to inspect.

“Well, the grey is grits, the orange is powdered egg, and the brown is apple sauce.” Clarke says confidently, pointing to each individually. Raven gives her a skeptical look. 

“Don't worry, you won't starve here. The courts attached your bank account to the commissary so you can stock up on real food there. I'll go with you – there's some stuff I need to pick up.”

It turns out, Clarke is a masterful barterer. Raven spends the morning joining Clarke on her various visits. She watches Clarke turn a simple stick of gum into a box of brand new colored pencils and a handful of m&ms before lunch. Clarke introduces her to more inmates than she can keep track of, and helps her set up her commissary account.

Lunch comes. A steady stream of women come to their table to have a murmured conversation with Clarke before moving away. Raven is starting to realize Clarke has her hands in everything that happens in the prison.

“Ay, Griffin! My design done yet?” A small woman around their age swaggers up to them. She has her mousy hair in a long braid down her back and wears an olive green baseball cap.

“I told you it'll be ready tomorrow. God, Monroe, you're more impatient than O.”

The woman – Monroe – just huffs a laugh and passes by. Raven turns to Clarke with a raised eyebrow. Clarke shrugs, lowering her voice.

“I'm the resident tattoo artist.”

Oh.

Great.

Her roommate is involved in a pretty serious breach of prison policy. Well, they're all criminals anyway. What's one more crime to the list? It's Clarke's head after all. Raven watches quietly as Clarke deals with women left and right. She notices the headphones around her neck – she hasn't seen anyone else in the prison with them.

“What do you listen to?” Raven points to them. Clarke reaches into her pocket and pulls out an ancient Walkman.

“Wow. I haven't seen one of those in years.”

Clarke huffs a laugh and pops it open. Inside is a rough looking cassette. It's hand labeled – a strip of masking tape across it.

“Who's Jim Croche?”

Clarke just smirks again and slides the headphones on.

\- - -

“Octavia's about to get her ass handed to her.”

They're sitting at a picnic table in the prison yard, watching Octavia kneel on the edge of the track next to a slight girl named Maya.

“I don't know, she looks pretty strong.”

Clarke shakes her head.

“She uses all of her energy at the start. You'll see. She'll run out of steam halfway through.”

Raven watches with interest as Monroe holds her hat up.

“Why does she run if she always loses?”

“She's too stubborn to quit.”

Monroe pulls the hat down and the girls are off. Octavia explodes forward, all energy and speed. At first, Octavia has a lead on Maya. But as they round the first curve of the asphalt oval she starts to slow. Maya easily catches her, and by the end she comes in over a second before Octavia.

“Told you.”

Raven nods, shifting on the bench. She's trying to take pressure off of her swelling hip without anyone noticing.

“You okay?” Clarke asks, voice low and eyes on Octavia.

“I'm fine.” Raven resists the urge to huff at Clarke. She's given her so much today Raven cannot jeopardize their tentative friendship. Clarke doesn't say anything. Raven glares at the ground and shifts again.

“Look, I don't need your pity. It won't fix anything.”

“Okay.” Clarke doesn't look at her, keeping her voice low. Her tone is nonchalant, as if talking about the weather.

“Just 'okay'?”

Clarke finally looks at her. Her eyes are kind, no trace of irritation on her face.

“Yeah. Okay.” She shrugs as if to say 'what more do you want?' Raven doesn't trust it. Why else would Clarke be sitting with her instead of mingling in the yard? Why else would she have spent all day subtly making sure Raven is okay?

“I mean it you know. You're not sitting with me out of pity?”

“I'm not.” Clarke makes sure their eyes meet. “Yo prometo que no lástima que.”

Raven feels her ears heat up and looks away.

“Thanks.”

\- - -

They make it a habit to sit together during yard time. Sometimes they cheer on the basketball games, sometimes they watch Octavia push herself to the limit, sometimes they just sit – Raven reading a battered library book and Clarke listening to her headphones.

Today Clarke leans her arms on the table and looks at Raven.

“Can I ask you something?”

Raven knows what's coming. She's surprised it's taken Clarke a month of knowing her to ask about her leg. Clarke studies her for a moment, head resting on her arms and blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Raven readies herself for the long story.

“Shoot.”

“Why did your mom name you Raven?”

Raven is thrown for a loop. That is not what she expected at all.

“I, um. My mom said it's because I was born with a bunch of black hair sticking everywhere like feathers.”

Clarke smiles lazily, eyes sliding shut under the March sun.

“You thought I was going to ask about your leg,” She says.

“Well, most people do. I'm surprised nobody here has, actually.”

“I told them not to,” Clarke says nonchalantly. “Most people don't like strangers to ask personal questions.”

Oh.

“Huh. Thank you.”

Clarke nods, eyes still shut. Raven looks out over the yard. She finds herself wanting to tell her, now that Clarke has let Raven trust her.

“Do you want to know?”

“Yeah.” Clarke opens her eyes to watch Raven. The rest of her stays still so as not to break their moment.

“I was shot.” Raven states bluntly. “It was an accident, sort of. I was in a warehouse, digging around for parts. Suddenly I hear these two guys yelling. One was screaming something about 'revenge' and 'I want you to feel what I felt' and all that dramatic shit.”

Clarke's eyes are glued to Raven as she tells her story.

“I uh, I went towards them and saw a small guy with a gun pointed at a tall guy. The tall one was standing on a chair with a belt around his neck.” 

Clarke's eyebrows shoot up.

“Yeah it was fucked up. I called out to them and the guy with the gun jumped and accidentally shot me. The tall one managed to jump down and attack the one with the gun. I didn't really see much. The bullet went right into my spine, you know, so I was pretty much checked out.” Raven winces at the memory, hand unconsciously covering the spot on her stomach where the bullet went through.

“Somehow the guy with the gun got shot as well, and the tall guy ran out. We were stuck in the warehouse alone.”

Clarke reaches out her hand and folds it over Raven's. She doesn't say anything, just provides a steadying comfort so that Raven doesn't lose herself in the memory. Raven takes a long breath before continuing.

“His name is John Murphy. We sat in the warehouse for two days – neither of us could move. Ended up talking about all sorts of things. He used his shirt to stop my bleeding. He was shot in his leg and his shoulder. We...” Raven's voice wavers. She stares into the yard without really seeing it.

“Well anyway. He and I sort of came to an understanding. He went to prison. I wrote him a lot before I got arrested. At first it was all 'I hate you, you ruined my life.' The more we talked though, the more my anger faded, until one day I was able to write him without wanting to tear the paper.”

Clarke continued to press her hand into Raven's while she composed herself. Finally she shrugs with a forced laugh.

“So enough about me...”

Clarke smiles and sits up, removing her hand to dig out the Walkman.

“Thanks,” She says. “Someday I'll tell you my story in return. Then you'll get to see how fucked up I am.”

The sirens buzz. Yard time is over.

\- - -

“I swear to god if this tv keeps cutting out during my show I'm gonna lose my mind!”

Clarke and Raven walk up to Monroe, who is currently glaring daggers at the box tv set up in the corner of the room. The picture keeps cutting in and out, leaving only garbled sounds.

“What are you watching?” Raven asks.

“She's watching x files because she's a big nerd.”

Monroe rolls her eyes at Clarke.

“Yeah, because Nova and Jeopardy are so cool.”

Clarke grins.

“Jesus Fuck!” Monroe slams her hand down on her leg. The tv screen is pixelated and entirely in shades of grey. Raven watches it, eyeing the way it shutters.

“I can fix that,” She mutters to herself. Clarke's eyes snap to Raven.

“What do you need?”

Raven had just meant that she could fix it if she had the tools. There's no way she can get her hands on a tool box.

“Uh, I'd need a screwdriver to start.” Raven shrugs, tone implying that the matter is closed.

“I can get you one within an hour.”

Well, okay then.

45 minutes later Raven is crouching by the tv, wires sticking everywhere and a masking tape roll in her teeth. Somehow, Clarke managed to gather everything Raven needs, as well as convince Jackson to look the other way. Clarke sits across from her, occasionally asking a question or handing Raven the screwdriver. It feels good to be fixing things again. Her mind slips into a peaceful trance, existing entirely in terms of wires and electricity and mental schematics. The tv had clearly been patched up at least six times before, so none of the wires were the correct colors and many are too covered in tape to tell what they are. Raven carefully separates them and re-braids the fried ends into the proper place. She takes her time, not wanting the feeling to end. Eventually, though, she finishes and has to screw the box back together.

“That should do it,” She says, leaning back on her heels. “Care to do the honors?”

Clarke smiles and pushes the power button.

It comes on clearer than it's been the entire time Raven's been here. The small crowd that'd gathered to watch her fix it cheers. Clarke smiles at her and sweeps up the tools, disappearing to put them back wherever she got them.

“Reyes! You're amazing!” Monroe shouts, clapping her on the back. “I totally owe you one.”

“Yeah, I am aren't I?”

\- - -

If this loca white girl doesn't shut up Raven's definitely never leaving prison. Raven shifts, running her fingers through her hair. She turns to Octavia and catches her eye, each rolling them while Maya tears up talking about some childhood memory. Every time she seems like she's wrapping up, Kane eggs her on to continue.

Raven stretches her bad leg out, sighing heavily.

“Ms Reyes, do you have something to say?” Marcus Kane calls her out. Raven shrugs, eyes on her shoes as she shifts in the cheap plastic chair. Just because the prison is forcing them into group therapy because some liberal judge wants to rehabilitate them doesn't mean she's dumb enough to share in it.

“Ms Vie has just shared something very personal about her father and as her friends we should listen politely and offer help.”

Raven barely holds in a snort at the word 'friends'. She lifts her eyes to glance at Maya Vie who glares at her with all of the heat of a hand-me-down easy bake oven. She then meets Kane's eyes and shrugs again.

“Come on Ms Reyes, how about you tell us what you think Ms Vie should say to her father? This is about group healing.” Kane looks at her with stern eyes, folding his arms as if expecting resistance. She can't disappoint him.

Holding her face completely blank, she sits up slightly and raises her voice into a fake innocence.

“No hablo inglés.”

Octavia immediately snorts, hand covering her mouth as her shoulders shake. Kane sighs and pinches his nose while several other girls begin to giggle as well. Raven glances across the circle at her two other roommates. Harper is trying to hold in a giggle, glancing at her friend Maya apologetically. Clarke isn't laughing, but when she catches Raven's eyes she smirks. It's subtle, but Raven has learned not to expect much emotion out of her when there are guards around.

“Ms Reyes, it is this flippant attitude towards others that brought you here in the first place.”

“Aquí pensé que era la policía,” Raven replies, shooting a grin at Octavia who snorts again.

“English, Ms Reyes. What did you say?” Kane's frustration every time she uses Spanish is definitely her favorite part of Thursday therapy sessions.

“I said 'yup.'”

This makes Clarke huff a laugh – something Raven aims for on a daily bases. Even Maya smiles at that, though she's clearly fighting it. Kane glares and shakes his head, dramatically clicking open his pen to write in that little notebook of his.

“Make sure you spell my name right,” Raven calls across the circle, making the girls all giggle again.

“Alright, we're through here. This session is falling apart. You can thank Raven for having to finish early.” Kane says this as if they were actually upset that the session is finishing half an hour early. In reality, Raven's probably going to get a few extra high fives tonight. She's pretty damn proud of herself actually. The twenty-three other girls start to chat with each other as Octavia gives Raven a fist bump.

“C'mon Reyes, let's get out of here. I have to talk to someone before dinner.”

Raven nods and digs around under her chair for the cheap crutch the prison provided for her.

Kane motions for the guard to open the door. They all start to stand, stacking their chairs as Kane calls out.

“Ms Reyes, a word.”

Well there goes her good mood.

O, Clarke and Harper hang back, lingering by the door. Kane notices and waves them off.

“Alone.”

Raven catches Clarke's eye – a mix of worry and curiosity written on her face. Raven just shrugs it off.

Raven nods at her cellmates and settles back into her chair.

“Raven, what's eating at you? This is the third outburst in therapy within the last month, and according to the guards you had an incident last night after lights out.” Kane leans forward, all sternness having evaporated from his eyes. Raven just shrugs. No way she's opening up to some underpaid government therapist. Kane sighs, but this time it sounds more like exhaustion instead of frustration.

“Raven listen to me. I cannot help you unless you let me. You don't have to tell me everything, but you can't keep having outbursts like last nights shouting in the cell block. That almost got you solitary, and we both know you don't handle solitary well.”

Raven nods, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. She can feel her ears heating up in embarrassment as he outlines her recent outbursts. The shouting last night had started with a letter from her mother. It was full of drunken ramblings and accusations, followed by a request for money again.

Her mother had not been to visit her once. If it weren't for the fact that she had to write Skyblock County Correctional Facility on the envelope, Raven would be unsure as to whether her mother even knew she was in prison.

To say the letter stung would be an understatement.

The letter put her in a foul mood for the rest of the day. Suddenly she was itching to get out, every bar and window and glimpse of razor wire made her want to crawl out of her own skin. When the girls in the cell across from them wouldn't shut up she lost it, screaming and kicking the bars. It had taken Clarke and Octavia grabbing her and covering her mouth with their hands for her to shut up. Another minute and she would have been dragged from the cell by the guards. Clarke sat with her on her bunk half an hour, letting Raven listen to her music while providing the unobtrusive comfort of another person. Raven's embarrassed at how sensitive she had been last night.

This morning she gave Clarke four of her pens and Octavia one of her mini Snickers bars to make up for it.

“Okay, I'm not a fool Raven. I know you won't talk to me. I just want to make sure you have someone you can talk to.” Kane glances through his notebook. “Do you talk to your roommates Clarke Griffin, Harper McIntyre, and.. Octavia Blake?”

Raven shrugs, nodding.

“Good. Raven, I know I'm just a prison councilor. Let's be honest. I'm paid to care about you and you know that. But Raven, I became a councilor for a reason. I chose this job because I do care about all of you – I don't want you all to end up like I did.”

Raven looks him up and down and raises her eyebrow.

“Middle aged white man who thinks beards are coming back?”

To her shock, Kane cracks a smile at that.

“No,” He shakes his head. “Lonely.”

At this, Raven pauses. Kane waits until she meets his eyes before continuing in a soft voice she'd never heard before.

“If you push everyone away, if you don't let anyone help you. If you keep acting like you don't matter, pretty soon the world will want to agree. And that's a very lonely way to live.”

Kane's eyes are locked with hers. He isn't letting her look away. Something deep within Raven echoes the thought.

He knows you. He sees you.

Raven tries to shake off his look. She can't stop the prickling in her eyes and the heat in her cheeks. Before she can do something as ridiculous as crying (or, god forbid, actually opening up to him) she nods towards the clock.

“I ah.. I gotta go, dinner is soon. If I don't go... Sorry Kane.”

Kane sighs, nodding.

“Okay. Just think about what I said.” He watches her a moment more before going under his seat to grab his briefcase. Raven reached up and furiously wiped at her eyes as soon as he looked away. 

She grabs her crutch and uses it as leverage to drag herself to her feet. Once she passes the scary part where she's certain she's gonna fall, she wraps the cuff of her crutch around her arm and grips the handle. Taking a deep breath and running a hand down her face again, Raven begins her shuffle-step towards the door.

No llores Reyes, eres bien.

Kane smiles and nods as she walks past. She pretends not to see. Reaching the door, she opens it to find the guard waiting to lead her to the cafeteria where a hundred other women are going to pretend to spend half an hour eating. In reality, they spend at least 15 minutes trading and spreading rumors. Meals are the only time every woman in their half of the prison is together at one time. When the women finish, then the boys come and eat.

(The only evidence of the boys the women ever get is the distant shouting in the yard and the shared infirmary.)

She shows up too late to get in line. Her leg is dragging painfully and she feels everyone glancing over as she shuffles down the rows to her table – and yet she's glad she's here instead of with Kane. That man sees too much and says too much for her liking.

Her cellmates sit at a small table in the back. She sits with Harper, Clarke and O of course; but also Harper's friends Maya and Monroe, and Octavia's friend Tris. Sometimes they are joined by a young girl named Charlotte but she never says anything. Clarke found her once in the bathroom crying. Clarke being Clarke, she talked to Charlotte and made her feel better, and now Charlotte is mildly obsessed with her.

“Raven! We saved you a tray.” Octavia gestures to the tray next to her. They gave her the edge seat, knowing she has to stretch her leg out along the side of the table. Once she's seated, she tucks her crutch under the table and looks up to find all their eyes on her.

“So what did Kane want with you?” Octavia prods. Raven just shrugs nonchalantly.

“Oh you know, wanted me to get my life straight and respect the group next time someone's talking.”

Well, that's kind of true.

Octavia nods and launches into a story she had clearly been telling before Raven showed up. The other's laugh and react to whatever O is saying. Only Clarke's eyes remain on her. There's no accusation or judgment in them, but Raven gets the horrible sense that she sees as much as Kane.

Raven drops her eyes to her tray and notices she has no salad but two pudding cups. Somebody traded.

That doesn't make sense. Everyone hates the so-called salad. It's just brown lettuce and olive oil. The pudding is the best part.

She whips her eyes around to the rest of the group's trays. Octavia and Harper have theirs, Monroe is finishing hers off, Maya has been giving her's to Tris for the last week as payment for a favor, and Charlotte is just starting on hers.

Clarke.

She looks down the table to Clarke's tray, finding it suspiciously loaded with browning leaves. Looking up, Clarke meets her eyes and winks before turning to hear Octavia's story. 

Crap.

She's gonna end up running out of pens by the end of the week.

\- - -

Clarke is in solitary.

Raven's really not sure how it happened. Octavia started the fight, Clarke just ended it.

It started that morning. Octavia had been in a bad mood since she woke up. She slipped in the shower, accidentally ripped a hole in her sock, ended up late to breakfast, then got surprise frisked by Byrne. Needless to say, she was practically begging for a fight by the time lunch came around.

Raven was in line right behind Octavia. She had accidentally bumped into the woman in front of her. Not a big deal. But the woman made the mistake of muttering “fuckin' idiot” under her breath.

“The fuck did you just say, bitch?” Octavia tossed her tray onto the counter and got into the woman's face. The woman turned. She was close to six feet tall and built like a bulldozer, but that seemed to just make Octavia angrier.

“I said you're a fuckin' idiot.”

By this point Raven was starting to get a bad feeling. The woman looked like she could fold Octavia into a paper crane with one hand if she wanted.

“Say it again bitch! Say it to my face!” Octavia shoved the woman.

“Octavia, stop!”

Too late. The woman shoved Octavia back, and the room erupted into chaos.

Raven was suck behind them, unable to hold Octavia back and the crowd at the same time. She looked around for Clarke but couldn't find her in the mass of jumpsuits. Octavia has been shoving and punching at the bulldozer woman, barely leaving a mark by the looks of her. Another minute and the woman would have wiped the floor with Octavia's ass.

Luckily for O, Clarke managed to push her way through the crowd and step in between them.

“O! Stop this!” 

Octavia tried to push her out of the way but Clarke was not moving. One of the inmates in the back of the cafeteria called out a warning.

“Shumway!”

This made all of the women hush, each freezing in place. Each, that is, besides Clarke. She flew into action, all but ripping off her headphones and shoving the Walkman into her hands.

“Watch over this for me!”

As Shumway elbowed his way to them, Clarke hauls back and punches Octavia in the eye, knocking her flat on her back.

“What's going on here?”

“What the fuck!”

Octavia and Shumway shouted at the same time. Clarke stood above Octavia breathing hard and snarling at her.

“This fucking bitch cut me in line! I'll kick her ass!” She lunged forward as if to attack O, but Shumway grabbed her.

“Clarke Griffin, I should have guessed.” Shumway forced her arms behind her back and handcuffed her. Clarke spat at Octavia, glaring around the women as if daring them to contradict her story. Nobody was that stupid. The woman Octavia had been fighting melted into the sea of jumpsuits. Octavia looked like she was going to argue, but Raven shook her head at her behind Shumway's back.

“One year in solitary not enough for you? You're about to get some more!” He led her away. The rest of lunch was dead silent.

For the rest of the day, Octavia sits at a table by herself, glaring violently at the ground. She doesn't speak to anyone – Raven suspects she wont speak to anyone until Clarke gets back.

The tension in their block is painful. Raven didn't realize just how much Clarke keeps their block peaceful. She mediates fights, provides and collects on favors, and generally reminds people of their humanity. No matter the fact they're in cages – Clarke reminds them they're not animals.

Their block is silent that night.

Octavia comes in moments before lights out and lays down with her back to the room. Harper tries to comfort her, but how do you comfort someone who sent their best friend to solitary? Lights out is called and Byrne tells them to get their asses in bed and shut up.

In the dark, with Octavia's sniffing and Harper's concerned sighs, Raven slides the headphones on. It feels oddly intimate. She presses play and Tracy Chapman starts to sing in her ears. She finds she misses Clarke already.

The next day Raven tries to hand the Walkman to Harper.

“Harper, seriously you should have these. You've known her longer than me, it's weird for me to have them.”

Harper just shakes her head.

“Clarke gave it to you, not me.”

“She just gave it to me because I was the only one there.”

Harper shakes her head.

“I think it's more than that. She trusts you.” Harper returns to her breakfast with a shrug.

This makes Raven pause. Clarke has always been nice to her, sure. And yeah, they have fun talking at the bench every day. But Clarke talks to everyone. Raven cannot think of anything special she could have done to earn her trust. But then, who can say they know what that woman is thinking?

Clarke is an enigma. She's friendly and cares about everyone, but there's a steel wall around her inner thoughts. It seems like for every day that passes, Clarke ages three. Though she's a year younger than Raven, she's the most level headed person Raven knows.

“Hey, is it true? What Shumway said?” Raven practically whispers across the table. Harper leans in. “Was Clarke really in solitary for a whole year?”

Harper nods solemnly.

“Her first year here. She was sixteen.”

“What on earth could a sixteen year old do to deserve that?”

Harper shrugs.

“Nobody knows. She never talks about it.”

The look on Harper's face tells Raven she'll never get anywhere asking about it. She nods and slides the headphones on.

Listening to the tapes, she feels like she's getting a glimpse into Clarke's mind. The music itself isn't very telling, but as Raven listens to the tapes she feels the moods they set.

She knows Clarke likes to listen to American Gangster or Tracy Chapman during lights out, but leans towards Big Pun or in the yard. She tends to play Santana or Marvin Gaye when tattooing, but prefers Croce or Billie Holiday during meal times. And always, without fail, plays Robert Palmer on visiting days.

She never has a visitor.

To be fair, none of them do.

Octavia's only family is her brother, and he's currently serving time in the men's half of Skyblock. They exchange letters filled with the drama of their respective sides, which Octavia reads out loud at lunch as entertainment.

Harper never talks about a family – the only person they ever hear about is the friend at the comic book store, and she only mentions him in passing. She admitted once that before prison she was couch surfing for a year.

Raven's own mother is a mess. She swings between hating Raven and sending her torn out pictures from library books that reminded her of her daughter. Her mother occasionally sends a Polaroid with it, letting Raven guess where she is at the time. Raven keeps them stuffed under her mattress.

Like many inmates, Clarke refuses to talk about her past. She receives letters that she never responds to, and when she thinks nobody can see her she reads them and cries. She never mentions a father, but wears a large man's watch. Raven figures she'll never get the full story out of her.

She misses her time with Clarke more every day. During yard time, she listens to the tapes and watches arguments break out left and right. Sometimes Octavia sits next to her, never saying anything, just needing someone to understand how guilty she feels.

Every night that Clarke spends in solitary, Raven pulls another tape from under her mattress. In the eight days Clarke is gone, she manages to go through all of them.

The morning Clarke comes back, Raven is sitting at breakfast listening to The Who. She's barely awake, head on the table and swirling her fork in her breakfast. Suddenly she feels a weight barrel into her, dark hair covering her vision.

“Raven get up!”

“Jesus H Christ you scared the shit out of me!”

Octavia just laughs and tugs on her arm.

“Come on, Clarke is back!”

She tears off, running to the entrance of the cafeteria. Raven watches her go, grinning as a crowd forms to welcome her back. She doesn't move to stand, just watches. She cannot see Clarke, but the noise of people welcoming her back prove Octavia correct. An amazing lightness fills Raven, and she laughs at Octavia who shoves a path through the crowd. Raven can see her now. Octavia practically jumps on her, hugging her and practically shouting apologies. Over her shoulder, Clarke and Raven meet eyes. Raven waves lamely, sliding the headphones off of her head.

Clarke breaks from the crowd and walks over to Raven. Up close, Raven can see the deep shadows under her eyes.

“Hey.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at Raven's awkward greeting and pulls her into a hug.

“I missed you, Rae.”

Raven feels her eyes prickle as she feels her ears turn scarlet. She hugs Clarke tight, trying to convey how relieved she is to see her. Pulling back, she cant stop the grin forming on her face.

Clarke grins at her. Her eyes narrow as she takes in Raven's appearance.

“Raven, are you tearing up?”

She is. She doesn't know what's wrong with her – her leg hurts and she's on her period but mostly Octavia's been grumpy and Harper's been quiet and Raven missed Clarke a lot.

“It's just this stupid music of yours,” She claims, swiping once at her eyes. She offers the Walkman back to Clarke.

Clarke slips the headphones over her neck and holds up one ear, pressing play. When it starts, she meets Raven's eyes with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“Yeah, Pinball Wizard gets to me every time.”

Raven shoves her playfully, trying her best to hide her blush.

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if the languages is messed up.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated

**Author's Note:**

> I'm chicano but I am terrible at spanish so let me know if something is wrong.  
> I didn't have anyone look over this, so it's a bit rough. Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated


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